“Hey,” she whispered, and then bit back a gasp as sparks spat from the dark gills of the alarm. Blue did not flinch. He did not act surprised at all as he dug his fingers under the edge of white plastic, grunting as he pried it off the ceiling. Iris did not bother trying to stop him. He was too intense, too focused. She wanted to know why—why this was suddenly more important than what she had just done to him.
Blue pulled a screwdriver from the tool belt still slung around his hips and began opening the alarm. He did it quickly, silently, and when he pulled off the covering and the components lay exposed, he touched Iris’s arm and drew her close.
“Look,” he said, pointing at a rectangular piece of black plastic soldered onto the guts of the device. A thick wire curled, stretching to the dome, where it had been glued into place. At the very tip was something shiny, like glass. A lens?
“What,” Iris said slowly, “is that?”
“A remote transmitter,” Blue said grimly. “A camera.”
“Oh,” she said. “Shit.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
If seeing Iris attacked and nearly kidnapped had not already been enough to make Blue crazy, then finding a hidden camera in her fire alarm was more than enough to make him start bleeding from his ears and speaking in tongues. God Almighty. What a terrible day.
He sat on Iris’s stoop, safe in the shade, keeping company with the cats. Sweat rolled down his face; the bottle of water beside him was almost empty. Early evening was drawing on, but the heat had not lessened; he was just getting better at enduring.
Iris was inside her RV. He did not know what she was doing, but he suspected it involved the fetal position. Or not. He wished he could join her, but he was trying to be a gentleman and give her space—even though what he really wanted was to curl around her body. Hell, he needed to be held, too.
No police, though. Iris did not want to talk to them. Under different circumstances, Blue would have forced her to call, but this situation was different. Painfully so.
Blue cradled the fire alarm in his hands. The crackling of the hidden camera still felt sharp in his mind. It was a complicated piece of technology, far more complex than it appeared. It was military grade, the kind that could transmit images over a good long distance, and to nothing more simple than a laptop. This was not the work of an amateur.
The problem was, he had no way of knowing just how long the camera had been in Iris’s home. From the look on her face, though—and knowing what he did about her secrets—any amount of time was too much. The damage—real damage, shape-shifter damage—might already be done.
Like when we kissed, he thought, remembering the feel of Iris’s body, her incredible warmth, the golden light that had streamed from her eyes. Her arms, soft with sleek fur that had felt like silk beneath his fingers. He loved the sensation, the wildness of it, could not imagine Iris any other way. Blue had wondered, though, just how deep she would go, how far she would trust him.
Apparently, just about as far as she could throw him. Not that he could blame her. He understood her fear. Given his past, it was foolish of him to get involved as well. If he ever hurt her …
Blue resisted the urge to rub his back. The cut in his chest throbbed. His knee was killing him and those stars were back in his vision, competing with the glare of the desert sun. Iris packed a punch.
But the pain was nothing at all to his fear. Bone-deep, chilling, fear.
Santoso Rahardjo. Fate had a terrible sense of humor. That, or the bomb blast had made Blue clinically insane. A distinct possibility—he might be wrong, overreacting, going over the deep end into some crack den nightmare—because what were the odds? What was the chance that Blue would find himself in the same place as Santoso Rahardjo? Again?
And yet, his instincts were screaming, and so were the coincidences. That blonde woman, Santoso’s employee, appearing at the Miracle? A man dropping words of Indonesian appearing with notecards made of flesh? That same man having enough money to retain an army of goons to do his dirty work? Goons who had also gone after Daniel?
Right. That part did not make sense, but as for the rest, Blue could pretend that he was not crazy. And, pretending he was not crazy, he allowed himself to tackle the very real possibility that Santoso was in town. The question was, why Iris—and why Las Vegas?
Business, he answered himself. Regardless of Santoso’s tastes in women, he was first and foremost an entrepreneur—and anything but business would be a waste. Crime lords, in Blue’s experience, were always workaholics. Nothing like the possibility of losing power to keep a man in shape.
So there’s a deal going down. Something big. It has to be. Santoso rarely visits the States. Too many people looking for him.
But was Iris nothing more than a side interest? Something to keep Santoso occupied between business dealings? And if she was, then how did that explain the hidden camera, the attempted kidnapping, the personal visit and notes?
My love. I will make you mine. That sounded a hell of a lot more involved than a man looking for some entertainment.
His cell phone buzzed. Con and Lila raised their heads and looked at him, their beauty sleep interrupted. Petro yawned, showing off the inside of his massive mouth. Hello again, teeth.
The cell phone’s screen identified the caller as Roland. Blue, still looking at the lion, answered, “You’d better have some good news for me, man. The shit I mentioned to you earlier? It just got deeper. I am now officially screwed.”
“Really,” said a familiar voice, which was female, brusque, and most definitely not Roland. “Is your situation so terrible, Felix, that your entire conversation must begin with profanities? Is it?”
Blue froze. “Mom? What are you doing with Roland’s phone?”
“I am in his office in San Francisco,” she replied curtly. “Brandon and I arrived less than thirty minutes ago. Your father’s men found us and were being … difficult.”
“Difficult? What do you mean, difficult? Did they try to hurt you?”
“They tried to bring me back to your father. No doubt for another round of threats.” He heard papers rustling; in the background, Roland rumbled something. His mother added, “Your employer assures me that no one will be able to retrieve us in this place.”
“Did you find anything that can help us?”
“Most of your father’s illegal dealings have been in cash. Everything else has been conducted through businesses with enough fronts in place that even his employees have no idea who they are really working for. Fortunately, I am quite familiar with one of those business chains. Your father has probably cleaned up most of his paperwork by now, but I managed to take what I have from my office safe and place it in a safety-deposit box.”
“So you have proof.”
“What proof is there against a dead man? No, Felix. None of what I have is enough. Not if he remains dead.”
“He doesn’t have to. We could expose him. Get a camera crew up there, swamp the place with journalists.”
“And then what? Yes, he would be shown as a liar, but you know him. He will spin the truth, he will claim temporary insanity, he will beg his friends in the Department of Justice for favors, and he will still be rich. Rich and angry. He will hurt your friends, Felix.”
Roland said something else, and Mahasti said, “You do not understand this man at all.” And then Blue heard another rumble, another voice that sounded surprisingly like his father’s. His mother made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Brandon believes we are risking your friends by even being here. Your father must know by now that we have come to … Dirk and Steele.”
Blue could almost feel her cringe when she said the agency name; it was far too tacky for her sensibilities.
He heard yet more voices in the background and said, “About you and Brandon …”
“He is my friend,” Mahasti said firmly. “And has been for some time. That is all I will say on the matter, Felix. At least until all of this has passed. Now, wait. Roland wants to
speak to you.”
How convenient. She did not even give him a chance to say good-bye before Roland coughed his way onto the line.
“I have more news,” Blue said, and told Roland what had transpired in the few hours since their last conversation. He tried to keep his voice low; he was not entirely certain Iris would approve of him sharing her story.
Roland made a humming sound. “You are one unlucky son of a bitch, man. You sure it’s Santoso?”
“I’d rather be paranoid than dead.”
“I’d rather be having a Swedish massage with some naked blondes, but life just isn’t fair that way. Speaking of which, you can’t complain too much. I looked that Iris McGillis up on the internet. The Miracle has a website with pictures. Those are her cats in front of you, right?”
Good old clairvoyant vision. Roland was a master of remote viewing. Blue said, “Yes.”
“You sure she’s a shape-shifter?”
“Yes.”
“A hot shape-shifter.”
“Yes.”
“And if I make a dirty joke about her right now, you’ll fry the electrical grid of my—”
“Yes,” Blue interrupted smoothly. “Oh, yes.”
Roland sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you about Santoso. If it’s him. And if it is … God, just do what you can. Don’t forget your priorities, though. You’ve got Iris now, but also your brother to deal with. Don’t lose sight of that, Blue. He needs your help, too. We all do, because if we can’t find out where your father is storing that information, his back-ups, how to access them …”
“I know,” Blue said.
“No, you don’t. We’ll find another way, I promise. Problem is, we might need Daniel’s help. At the very least, it’ll get fucking messy.”
“You just used a bad word in front of my mom,” Blue said.
“Tell me about it. I’ve had to be a monk in front of her. But I’m all done with that now. This is my office, and—Shit. I have to go. Your mother’s staring at me. I think she’s got powers. She’s looks at you funny and you can almost feel your balls ripping off.”
Blue heard a low, sharp voice. Roland said, “Your backup should be there soon,” and then the connection went dead.
He stared at the darkened screen for a moment, contemplated calling back so he could reassure himself that his mother was fine—and to tell Roland that he did not need backup—but he felt on the edge of his mind the approach of a car and looked up in time to see a dark green sedan pull into an open spot several RVs away. Agent Fred jumped out, his cheap suit wrinkled, his brown hair pressed flat against his head. Blue set the fire alarm on the ground and pushed it under the stairs behind his feet.
“Long time, no … Oh, never mind.” Fred shrugged. “I think I should begin chaining myself to Ms. McGillis’s leg. It would save me some gas.”
Blue did not find that particularly funny. “Why are you here?”
Fred’s brow crinkled. “I’m an FBI agent assigned to an existing case involving Ms. McGillis, and I get a call about an attempted kidnapping? You bet I’ll come out to ask some questions.”
“I don’t think it’s related,” Blue found himself saying—knowing he should shut up, that the more he talked the worse this would get. “The men who attacked her today were not ecoterrorists.”
“And how vitally important your opinion is to me,” Fred said sarcastically. “But you are right. In fact, according to the initial findings, the men arrested belong to a who’s-who list of ex-cons and escaped felons. Real celebrities, in their circle. Thing is, none of them are giving names, addresses, anything that can lead us to the person who hired them. I’ve never seen a group of men more tightlipped than these five. I’d call it loyalty, but I don’t think they’re capable.”
“So call it what it is, then. Call it money. Fear.”
Fred smiled. “I’ve got the strangest feeling that you’re an expert on these kinds of things. There’s definitely more cooking inside your head than what you show the world. Or would you disagree?”
Blue said nothing. There was a gleam in Fred’s eye that bothered him. No way to explain exactly how, just that … something did not seem quite right. He was too talkative, too willing to share information with a total stranger. No sense, definitely stupid. Straying miles from typical FBI procedure.
So the next time you call the office, ask for a background check. Easy, simple. Except—
“What’s your last name?” Blue asked.
“Wilhelm. But when people call me that I feel like a prick.” Fred’s smile stretched even wider. “You know, we never did talk about you and that shooter. Or why you’re here with the circus.”
“I’m just passing through,” Blue said.
“And making sweet memories while you’re at it. Very sweet, if what I saw this morning is any indication. I assume, of course, that Ms. McGillis knows that you don’t plan on lingering.”
“I don’t think what goes on between myself and Iris is any of your business. You should be more concerned about the psycho stalking her.”
“We’ll handle him. But you, on the other hand … you are a conundrum. A problem.”
“I can’t imagine why. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Except lie his ass off to Iris and his brother.
And if you had told her the truth? If you had shown her what you were, right from the beginning? You know you could have trusted her.
Maybe. But old habits died hard.
The door opened behind Blue. Iris peered out. She looked tired, exasperated, far too pale—and when she saw Agent Fred her expression did not improve.
“All of you are useless,” she said to him without any kind of greeting or hesitation. “Absolutely useless. Frighteningly incompetent—or maybe just frightening.”
“I won’t be giving you any job approval surveys to fill out,” Fred said, squinting against the sun. “Care to answer some of my questions about what happened?”
“No,” she said. “I already gave my statement to the police. I didn’t leave anything out.”
“Do you mind if I take a look inside your home?”
Iris gave him a dirty look but stepped aside, gesturing to her door. Fred smiled and entered the RV. Instead of following him, as Blue expected she would, Iris plopped down on the step. He looked at her, eyebrow raised.
“Small spaces with strangers aren’t my thing,” she said.
“Ah,” he replied, deciding not to remind her that she had done quite well with him in that same space. Mostly, anyway. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she snapped, but then she seemed to catch herself, softening just slightly, softening even more as a furrow appeared between her golden eyes. “How’s your back?”
He thought about lying to her, saying he felt fine, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it; too many lies and omissions already. “A little sore. Remember that old injury I told you about?”
Iris closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Blue.”
“You were scared. I scared you, and I’m sorry for that.”
It would have been easy for her to take his opening, to place the blame on him—easy because Blue expected it, did not mind at all—but instead Iris surprised him by vehemently shaking her head.
“You didn’t scare me,” she insisted, then lowered her voice as Fred rattled something near the door. “What we were doing was … was really good. I just … got scared. I had a bad experience once.”
She did not look at him as she spoke, and that alone would have been enough to make the alarms start clanging. But her voice—the tremor in it—made him sit up and start sharpening his mental knives.
“Did someone hurt you?” And where is that someone, so I can go beat the crap out of him?
Iris sighed, still not looking at him. “More like the other way around, though I suppose the pain was mutual.”
Blue slid his hand along her cheek, turning her head, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were so pained. He battled for words—the right words—beca
use Iris was a private woman, and he could not imagine what it was costing her to tell him this.
“Next time,” he said gently, “all you need to say is no.”
“Next time? You’re actually going to let me near you again?”
Blue laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The idea was too ridiculous.
A flush crept up Iris’s neck—again, he wondered if he had stepped wrong—but then her mouth twitched, the uncertainty in her eyes began to fade, and the shift was so lovely, so unexpected, Blue stopped laughing and whispered, “Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”
Her breath hitched, but she did not say anything, just stared at him as if it were the first time she had ever received a nice word about anything—and he wanted to kiss her so badly he thought his heart would explode.
But Iris relaxed, her mouth curved into a smile, and she very quietly said, “Compliments will get you everywhere, Blue.”
“They don’t get me everywhere,” Fred said, rejoining them. “Your home checks out. I noticed you’re missing a fire alarm, though. You ought to get that replaced. It’s not safe being without one.”
Blue glanced at Iris, waiting for her lead, but all she did was look Fred in the eye and say, “Thanks.”
“Sure,” he said, but that weird look was back, and Blue did not like it at all. It occurred to him, too, that Fred had never asked for his name. Not once.
“You’re an odd FBI agent,” Blue said.
“And you’ve got too many opinions.”
“Yeah. Like instead of talking to us, you should be out trying to find the little psycho who threatened Iris.”
“Maybe you would care to help? Since you’re so … invested in all of this?”
“You’re the FBI. I’m a lowly electrician. I think you’ll manage, regardless.”
Fred smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You and I. Later.” Whatever that meant.
The FBI agent walked away. Iris asked, “Is it just me, or do all men hate you?”
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